


Coffee & Blood

by fuckyeahlucifersupernatural



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Mark of Cain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-23
Updated: 2014-01-23
Packaged: 2018-01-09 19:10:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1149743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuckyeahlucifersupernatural/pseuds/fuckyeahlucifersupernatural
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lucifer finds a balance in protecting his true vessel and the wearer of the Mark of Cain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coffee & Blood

**Author's Note:**

> _"A mark was put upon him [Cain] to warn others that killing Cain would provoke the vengeance of the Devil, that if someone did something to harm Cain, the damage would come back sevenfold."_ [[x]](http://fuckyeahlucifersupernatural.tumblr.com/post/74159939656)
> 
> **Disclaimer:** This is fan-run and this writer is not officially affiliated with the CW Network, Kripke Enterprises, Warner Bros., and other official affiliates tied to the TV Show "Supernatural." This user does not claim ownership to the official content of Supernatural and does not seek profit off of the work produced presently. Plagiarism of this current story will not be tolerated and will be reported following AO3's terms of services. The stories, additional characters I create, are mine. This story was not created for profit. Making profit is deemed copyright infringement unless sanctioned by copyright holders (i.e. CW Network, Kripke Enterprises, Warner Bros., etc.). Copy infringement can range from paying a fine to actual jail time. Please do not claim this story as yours! Please do not sell this story! Please do not reproduce this story! All violators will be reported and dealt with severely! 

Dean feels the chill of death before it comes hurtling in, ripping the fabrics of reality all around him until atoms are splitting before his eyes. Recklessness has become his whiskey, or was it whiskey that muffled that burn when it drips down his throat? No matter how many times he sighs at the catch of his own eyes in the rearview mirror, he can’t quite mouth the words that he’s sorry. The words catch on his throat but they find fruition when his boots splatter with blood and his knife sinks into exposed guts and hearts. It’s an apology that will never reach the correct ears but it eases this guilt. 

Each bruise and knocked loose tooth eases that gnawing mass of guilt. Each confession to dying demons allows him to recompose this role he created all on his own. Not leader. Not team player. Not older brother. He’s a kamikaze pilot who believes the only way he can walk forward is to crash into the ground. So he thrashes and hisses against the hands of one of Abaddon’s fanatics, feeling hellfire gloss each tightened finger and burn his neck.

Death’s chill bites at his marked arm and Dean cries out in distress before the abandoned house ceases to exist. Someone is erasing the walls, leaving eraser residue of a strange red and it takes Dean a while to realize that it’s blood. It just hangs and dances about the air slowly. The hunter is transfixed with it all, this sudden hush in time and space as this strange disintegration floats about. Turning his head, he finds that the blood has a source. The demon was still holding onto his neck but the body was out of commission, head missing and light coiling behind it. Dean should have known who it was the minute the awful squelch of spine ripped out of back broke through the silence. 

But his mind draws a blank and his arm hurts, feeling as if someone is picking at it with an icepick. Time begins to pick up and the house shudders, remaining walls collapsing and blood splattering onto the floor from its lackadaisical flight. Dean stares at the curl of light that towers above him, this hulking mass of energy that is picking at the space around it and pulling it apart. It seems to be containing itself, diminishing in size so Dean doesn’t have to crane his head up. Solar flares of light stretch out, dropping the temperature around Dean like a frozen, apocalyptic sun. 

Dean touches his eyes, expecting to find blood but there is nothing but sweat. 

With a sharp shudder and sigh, there is something whole before him and pallid eyes boring into Dean. The hunter gives a strangled sound and tries to move, but his limbs are damp with blood and aches. He only accomplishes knocking himself into the table. There’s Lucifer, standing before him as if he never left, wearing a quizzical brow and disapproving curve of his lips.

The archangel moves towards him, fingers stretching out and grasping Dean’s arm. The sensation of his arm being torn to pieces by the mark ceases to a slow pulse when Lucifer touches the limb. Pushing at his sleeve, the archangel stares at the raised flesh. 

“I thought you were in the Cage?” Dean manages to heave out.

Lucifer hums and purses his lips, tapping a finger onto the mark, “I was. I’m not now.”

“Awesome. How about a better answer and not cryptic bullshit.” Lucifer shoots him a withering look, his hand leaving Dean’s arms. Dean waits for himself to burst into guts and blood. Instead the archangel rolls his shoulders and stares at their demolished settings. 

“Cain passed his mark and to someone itching to die,” Lucifer explains simply to the frayed flooring, Dean wincing at the words. “You were just like him when he first started out. Eager to challenge others twice his size not out of pride but for his own body to slip up and take the hit… Each time I’d be there to stopper the wound because that’s the nature of the Mark.” Lucifer sounds bored and it’s starting to tick the hunter off.

Dean shifts a bit and glares, “What, so you’re… Mr. Guardian Angel for me, now? That’s rich.” 

The blond gives an amused smile, chuckling lightly, “You’re missing the meaning of the mark, Dean. It will come to you.” 

The brunette runs a hand through his hair before pulling his sleeve down, feeling he’s missing something big out of this whole summon-Satan-bullshit. Rubbing at his nose, not quite sure what to do with his hands with the archangel staring at him. He ends up throwing his arms up to the air in a sign of dismissal at this entire conversation. “Okay, so, can you take me back to my car? I didn’t exactly drive to this place, more like friggen’ kidnapped, ” Dean asked and the blond’s eyes narrowed in thought before shaking his head. 

“No.” 

Before Dean can spit out a curse, Lucifer is gone. There archangel returns to a worn-looking Sam Winchester, cupping his cup of coffee and shooting an expectant look at the blond. Lucifer clicks his tongue, bloody fingers dancing across the surface of the table as he moves beside the Winchester. “Still irritating but quite alive,” the archangel announces, Sam visibly relaxing. 

Sam rises from his seat, cup abandoned and leads the archangel to the bathroom. There Sam washes the stained blood off Lucifer’s hands as the Devil chases away the taste of coffee off the hunter’s lips. Lucifer thinks he found a strange balance between coffee and blood.

**Author's Note:**

> _Love it? Hate it? Tell me in a review!_


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